


More than Candy

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: A few beats passed as Billy searched Steve’s face. “Talking’s been -- difficult. For me.”“Hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to-”Billy held up his hand and Steve stopped talking. “You still have my number?”The slip of paper that Billy had scribbled his number on was still lying on Steve’s desk. Billy had given it to him the week before the mindflayer came along. “Yep. Still got it.”“Good. ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind listening.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 57
Kudos: 283
Collections: Harringrove Week of Love, harringrove for Australia





	More than Candy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynn76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynn76/gifts).



> for lynn76! I hope you like this lol -- the prompt kind of took on its own life!

The bell above the door at Family Video jingled, and a rush of cool, dry autumn air blasted in. Steve popped his head around the endcap from where he was reshelving videos in the Drama section to see Max’s shock of red hair settling back down on her shoulders after being tousled by the breeze. 

“Hey Max!” Steve called. “How’s it goin?” 

“Fine, I guess,” she said as she placed a video to return on the counter. Robin picked it up and started to check it back in. 

Max rounded the corner and stood in front of Steve, sighed deeply, then began toying with a copy of _Somewhere in Time_. She plucked it from the shelf and looked down blankly at the cover. One corner of her mouth was downturned. 

Steve eyed her suspiciously. “Max -- remind me. At Dustin’s last week, you told everyone your favorite movie was …. What was it again?” 

“ _The Exorcist_ ,” she said, her eyes looking vacantly at the soft romantic cover with the title written in a pretty, cursive scrawl. 

“Huh.” Steve placed a copy of _Romancing the Stone_ behind its cover. “Didn’t take you for a fan of tearjerker romances. _Historical_ tearjerker romances.” 

Suddenly Max seemed to snap back into herself and slammed the cover back on the shelf. “What? No. No _way_ , god.” 

“So.” Steve placed the rest of the cassettes he was holding on the shelf. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

Max glanced around the aisle, but the store was empty except for Robin and an older man over in the other corner hemming and hawing over two videos in the Science Fiction section. “It’s Billy,” she said quietly. 

“Billy.” Steve’s mouth felt dry. “He’s been home, uh, like, two weeks, right? How’s -- how’s he doing?” Steve had heard from the kids about Billy coming back to Max and Susan’s house after being stashed in a hospital under Dr. Owens’s care. 

Three and a half months had passed while they thought Billy was dead and then suddenly two weeks ago, Dustin burst into the video store to announce with wild eyes _BILLY’S NOT DEAD HE’S COMING HOME TOMORROW DOCTOR OWENS BROUGHT HIM BACK TO LIFE HE’S ALIVE AND HAS BEEN SECRETLY RECOVERING THIS WHOLE TIME IN A GOVERNMENT HOSPITAL AND MAX AND HER MOM ARE LOSING THEIR MINDS GETTING HIS ROOM READY_ all in one breath, like he’d combust if he didn’t get it all out at once. 

When Dustin had said that, Steve’s stomach flipped because in the time that had passed since Billy died, Steve spent hours dissecting his emotions about it. He’d felt something twist in his gut at Billy’s death. Something that went deeper than grief of an acquaintance, someone almost now a friend, some unnamed feeling that simmered on a low flame and Steve didn’t know what it was -- it slipped between his fingers every time he tried to figure it out. 

Steve felt sad, yeah -- but he also felt anger and resentment that Billy’s home life was starting to turn a corner and that corner had been cut short. Billy had had such a raw deal with his father’s abuse -- Max’s hushed voice had described Billy’s life as bruises and denigration, stories that matched the bruises Steve had glimpsed earlier that year in the school’s showers. It seemed like Billy was only _just_ starting to catch some rays of happiness that summer -- the king of Hawkins Pool, yelling down at people from his throne. 

Steve knew that Susan had kicked Neil Hargrove to the curb in May, right before their graduation. The straw had been when she’d witnessed firsthand Neil kicking Billy on the hallway floor and then she found her voice and used it to say firmly, _get out_ , as she stood in front of Billy. Neil’s departure showed in Billy’s strut, oozing confidence, and in his improved attitude toward the kids. Billy with nothing to prove to anyone turned out to be a pleasant guy. Still kind of a trashy asshole, but a _fun_ trashy asshole.

Steve felt shortchanged, too. He thought of the _sorry bout that_ Billy had muttered behind the Byers’ house back in January. The tips of his fingers touched the small scar that disappeared into Steve’s hairline. They’d shared little moments -- too few, but enough to feel like a bud turning blossom. A bummed smoke and a friendly argument about their government teacher in front of Henderson’s house waiting on the kids. A small popcorn-throwing fight at The Hawk. Steve was just starting to _like_ Billy, starting to feel something new that made him smile -- something frantically happy blossoming in his chest as he drove home from Henderson’s gripping a piece of scrap paper with Billy’s phone number scrawled on it. Something that burned down low in his belly when Billy looked at Steve a little too long with those pretty blue eyes, and then at the hands of some giant beast, all of the dizzying possibilities were all ripped from his fingers. 

So within the last two weeks since Billy’s return, Steve went from feeling sad and resentful to feeling -- something akin to wildly flustered _hope_. 

Steve returned his attention to Max as she gathered her thoughts. 

“He’s. I don’t know. Honestly? I think he’s struggling. Like, he sees Doctor Owens three times a week, but he hasn’t really left his room. Just to eat and go to the bathroom. I help him change his bandages but whenever I talk he just -- gives a little yes or no and goes back to sleep. I think he might need a friend. Like, a guy friend -- not like, Lucas or Dustin. I was thinking someone his own age. Maybe you could come over and, I don’t know.” She shrugged one shoulder and waved her hand. “Talk about cars or sports. Or whatever guys your age do.” 

She blinked up at him pointedly with big, blue eyes and it took Steve a solid minute to remember that Max and Billy were not actually blood siblings. 

“Yeah. Yeah I could do that Max. No problem,” Steve said. His mind started racing thinking about what being friends with Billy could look like and quickly realized that he needed chill that rabbiting thing that his heart was doing -- that same rabbiting bullshit that his heart did in the BMW back in June when he looked down at a scrap of paper that said _BILLY 573-5542_ with a sketch of a hand giving the middle finger under it. “I’m done with my shift at seven. I could stop by after?” 

Max got a little grin on her face. “Sounds good. Just -- don’t be surprised if he doesn’t talk much, okay?” 

“Got it.” 

She walked over toward the front door and when she got her hand on the handle, Steve called out, “Hey Max?” 

“Yeah?” She paused. 

“Does he have a TV in his room?” Steve held up a cassette. “Maybe I’ll bring a movie over, or something.”

She nodded. “We put a TV and VCR in there before he came home. So yeah. Bring a couple if you want.” 

Max waved and left with another burst of cool air through the door.

Robin turned to look sharply at Steve, but he averted her gaze and focused on restocking the cassettes he’d left on the shelf. She tailed him -- of course she tailed him. “So. Wanna talk about that?”

“Nothing to talk about.” 

“Okay. Sure.”

“Seriously, Buckley. I’m just -- I don’t know, doing a favor for Max.” 

Robin snatched the cassettes out of his hand. “Before _everything_ ,” she waved in a manner to indicate all of the events surrounding the Fourth of July, “when Billy would come into Scoops and you would get _weird_ , Steve.” 

Steve scoffed and pulled a mimicking face. “Weird. Oookay. Sure.” 

“Okay. I get it. You want to do that stupid shit that you do -- that _emotions are for the pleebs! Sweet unpleasant things under the rug!_ thing. I get it. You and your family -- you’re WASPs. It’s what you do! But when you go over there tonight?” She stepped into his space and looked up at him softly. “Fuck all of that bullshit. Don’t pretend like this doesn’t affect you. And just -- be kind to him. Be gentle, Steve.” She pressed the cassettes against his chest and he placed a hand on top of them. “Max is right. He’ll need a friend, and I think you’re a good choice. For christ’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” 

“I’ll try not to,” Steve said with a little smile that he hoped would reassure her -- that he hoped would reassure _himself_. 

**~*~**

This wasn’t the first time Steve had ever been inside the Mayfield-Hargrove household. Over the last couple of months, when Susan worked late a few times, she insisted that Max should have a babysitter and called Steve to come over. Even though Max huffed and rolled her eyes and asserted she was old enough to stay at home alone, she still seemed to have fun with Steve when they played Clue and watched Punky Brewster. She ate up all of the spaghetti and garlic bread that Steve made for her. She told him about her first few months at the high school, and he responded to her opinions about which teachers were the best and which were the worst all while he had one eye on the closed door of Billy’s bedroom. It loomed like a ghost in the hallway. 

At eight o’clock, Steve stood on their front porch, freshly showered and wearing an amount of cologne he’d deemed suitable for just hanging out with a buddy. His hair was styled to a casual, friendly volume (he’d styled it up at first into high, cascading waves, but that felt like _a lot_ for just spending a few hours at a friend’s house). 

He held VHS copies of _Brewster’s Millions_ and _St. Elmo’s Fire_ in his hands, which he then jammed under his arm so that he could wipe his sweaty palms off on his jeans. 

He was about to see Billy. Anticipation twisted up inside his belly. “You’re fine, Harrington. Absolutely golden,” he said to himself, then took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked.

Max opened the door. “Hey Steve,” she said, and stood aside to let him in. 

Susan was watching TV but stood when Steve entered the living room. She was warm and friendly these days, offering, “hi, Steve! Good to see you again!” when he walked in. In general, she was just a touch more outgoing and chatty; the difference was sutble but enough for Steve to notice it. 

Max looked up and said quietly, “He seems a little better today. I told him you were coming and he got in the shower -- even had me help put cocoa butter on his scars.” 

A sudden image of Steve performing that same task for Billy flashed in his mind and he tried to blink it out as quickly as possible. “Yeah. Good.” 

Susan returned and handed Steve a couple cans of Coke, gave him a hopeful little smile, and in that moment, Steve felt gratitude toward her for declaring herself as Billy’s guardian to Doctor Owens. She could’ve just dropped Neil’s name and address and had him sent over there, but she didn’t -- and that spoke volumes about her to Steve. 

He made his way back to Billy’s room. The door was already hanging open. It looked the same except it had obviously been cleaned, with signs of a patient on the mend lying around everywhere -- a cluster of pill bottles, packages of gauze, a few rolls of ACE bandages, and the lung breathing thingie. He struggled to think of the term for it -- he’d seen Tommy’s dad using one after he’d come home from surgery, but drew a blank. 

Billy was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a KISS t-shirt. He looked skinnier and his hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. There was a scar on his right cheek under his eye. His shoulders were slumped; it looked as if he might’ve been carrying the weight of hell there at some point -- but the little smile on the corner of his mouth looked like it was meant for Steve. It looked hopeful and bright. 

Steve felt all kinds of warmth and joy bubble up in his chest at the sight of a very-alive Billy and tried to pull back on it -- a smile broke out on his face and he restrained himself from sprinting to hug Billy. He settled for taking a few steps forward and saying, “Jesus Christ, Billy. This is fucking unreal.” 

He panicked as his throat thickened, and he felt a tear well up and drop from the corner of his eye. Steve hated crying in front of others -- _hated_ it. Robin wasn’t wrong earlier; it was a long-standing Harrington tradition, taught to Steve through years of observing his parents’ behaviors, to shove emotions down into your core until they burn away with wine or neglect or fucking the secretary. 

When Steve saw Billy, though, he took a mental journey through the hallway of time to flip off every fucking Harrington ancestor who sat on a mound of buried problematic emotions, and he gave himself permission to let his joy spill over. A few tears slid from the corners of his eyes as he blinked down at Billy. 

Billy smiled and stood up, silent as he appraised Steve, his gaze steady on Steve’s face. Eventually he took the cans of pop and the movies from Steve’s hands, set them on his dresser, and pulled Steve into an embrace. 

Billy’s arms wrapped around Steve’s back, and Steve’s eyes closed for a second as slid his arms around Billy’s shoulders. 

“You look good. Being not-dead suits you.” 

Billy huffed a laugh; Steve could feel it move the fine little hairs at the nape of his neck and his hands moved down Billy’s back a bit. 

Steve pulled back a bit and let his hands slide to clasp Billy’s shoulders. “Since you’re back from the dead so does that make you, like, a zombie?” He scrunched his eyebrows and affected panic. “Are you a goddamn _zombie_ , Billy? Am I in danger right now?” 

Billy reached up and tapped Steve’s forehead. He licked his lips, leaned forward, and snapped his teeth at Steve’s head.

“Get the fuck off,” Steve laughed and shoved Billy back. 

Billy laughed, but still wasn’t talking. He turned to check out the movie titles. He held up one, then the other, frowned at both of them, and turned back to lift up one judgmental eyebrow at Steve. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know my taste is garbage. Robin says that shit to me like every day.” 

Billy paused for a moment and nodded. 

“Fuck off Hargrove. I’ll take my movies and just-” Steve played like he was about to snatch his movies and run but Billy grabbed his wrist. All laughter had vanished from his face, and his eyes searched pleadingly over Steve’s face. 

“Don’t go,” Billy said. His voice was quiet and a little gravelly. 

“Hey.” Steve laid his hand on top of Billy’s. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I was just fuckin around.” 

Billy nodded and released Steve’s wrist. 

They ended up sitting against the headboard on Billy’s bed. Billy already had a small mountain of pillows behind his back -- must be the most comfortable way for him to sleep with all of his abdominal injuries, Steve thought -- and he gave Steve a few of his pillows to lie back against. 

The movies were solidly mediocre. Max brought them popcorn and watched part of _Brewster’s Millions_ with them, but eventually left and declared it dumb as shit.

When they put on the next movie, though, Steve lost track of everything in the film as he felt his focus drawn to his peripheral vision -- he noticed how Billy pulled up his knees, how he tilted his head while watching the screen, his fingers relaxed and dangling. The silver band still adorned his middle finger and Steve wondered if Billy had ever taken it off -- if it had been there always, through the hospital and recovery. 

And then suddenly Steve became hyper-aware of the physical space between them because on the TV Andrew McCarthy and Ally Sheedy were on the screen rolling on the floor and kissing as if their lives depended on it while he said, _oh I love you. I’ve always loved you!_. The scene was frantic and fun and it made Steve wonder what the fuck he was thinking bringing this over to watch with Billy. 

After the movies were over, Steve apologized again for his shitty choices, but Billy didn’t really seem to care -- he just seemed glad to have some company. He walked Steve to the door and leaned his shoulder against the wall. The hem of his shirt rode up a bit and Steve couldn’t help but look down and see the tails of a three long, angry, dark-pink scars peeking out from under it. 

Steve wondered what the other scars might look like. He wondered if Billy might trust him enough one day to show them to him. 

Billy took a deep breath, looking as if he was pushing past demons in order to make his mouth move, and said, “Thanks for coming.” 

“I mean, of course I was gonna come over.” Steve stepped in close and placed his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “You were skewered by like, hundreds of clawed tentacles and still managed to come back. That’s pretty badass.”

A few beats passed as Billy searched Steve’s face. “Talking’s been -- difficult. For me.” 

“Hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to-” 

Billy held up his hand and Steve stopped talking. “You still have my number?”

The slip of paper that Billy had scribbled his number on was still lying on Steve’s desk. Billy had given it to him the week before the mindflayer came along. “Yep. Still got it.”

“Good. ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind listening.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Steve glanced down to the pad of paper and pen on the side table next to the door. He grabbed the pen and jotted his number down on a notepad, ripped the sheet, and handed it over. “I have a private line in my room. You can, y’know. Call me whenever you want. Middle of the night. Whatever. You won’t be bothering anyone but me.”

Billy rolled his eyes, muttered, “privileged motherfucker,” but still took the number and jammed it into his back pocket. 

When Steve got home that night, it wasn’t the movies he was thinking about. He could still smell Billy’s soap in his nose, and his sweater still carried the scent of Billy’s musk from his pillows. As he changed into his pajamas, all he could imagine was the six inches of space that had separated his arm from Billy’s. He slid his hand over on his own bed and sought a phantom hand -- wished he’d been bold enough to do that an hour ago. 

And then his phone rang.

**~*~**

Billy was _quiet_. That was no surprise; Steve knew that he’d end up bearing the brunt of the conversation when he handed his number over to Billy. He rambled about anything and everything -- talked about how Stacy Schmitt had broken his heart in seventh grade and dumped him the day after they’d made out by the creek, how his dad seemed to be growing more and more weary of Steve as it became increasingly clear that Steve was not cut out for wearing a suit and tie and crunching numbers. Steve talked and talked until he felt his eyes drooping, until the snow started falling in little flurries against a grey, cloudy November sunrise. 

Billy laughed occasionally at Steve’s stories, sometimes mumbled _yeah?_ and that sound traveled down through the phone, down Steve’s ear and through his throat, straight down into his chest and settled there. It was something for Steve to keep stored and hidden, a little gem that made him smile during the course of the next day. Eventually Billy talked -- started to say that he’s been near-silent during his recovery because he was scared of the mindflayer’s voice leaving his mouth, not his own, and he was only just now, with Dr. Owens’s encouragement and help, feeling confident enough to communicate with others. Finally, there was the sound of Billy’s voice, all honey and gravel, said, “night, pretty boy.” 

The next morning before his shift, Steve gave Billy a quick call and asked if he wanted to hang out again on Saturday. Billy agreed. 

Steve showed up for work and felt distracted all day. Robin side-eyed him constantly, giving him that look -- the one that meant that she was just _waiting_ for Steve to figure something out, but Steve had no time to decipher her glances and statements dripping with sarcasm because he was too preoccupied thinking about hanging out with Billy again. If Steve was being honest, he kind of missed being on the phone with Billy. 

Robin was going on and on about some book, _Hitchhiker’s Galaxy_ or something as Steve was shelving. He turned around and held up his hands. “Honestly? Robin? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Absolutely none. But you know who owns that book? Billy. I saw it in his room last night on his nightstand. Looks like he’s read the goddamn thing a million times because the cover looks all beat to hell. You should talk to him. Maybe you find some sort of way to like -- let him nerd out with you where he doesn’t have to talk a lot. Or something.” 

Robin nodded slowly, gave him an appraising look, and said, “You know what? That’s not a bad idea, Harrington. Next time that you talk to him, see if he wants to come up to the store sometime and I’ll rope him in.” And suddenly the idea of getting Billy to visit the store seemed intensely appealing. 

Later on in his shift, Dustin popped in and said he was on his way to Max’s for a Party gathering and they’d decided to rent a horror film. He grabbed a copy of _The Omen_ , and Robin would only agree to let him rent an R rated film by listing fourteen pieces of blackmail that she had on him if one of the moms found out. 

While they talked, Steve ran to the back room, grabbed the video catalogue, ripped out the _Dawn of the Dead_ ad, and scribbled _see you Saturday. please don’t eat me --Steve_ on the bottom of it. He taped it to a box of Reese’s Pieces and gave it to Dustin to give to Billy. 

Dustin just looked down at it and said, “you guys are weird,” before heading out the door. After he left, Steve imagined Billy looking at the candy, what his face would look like when he saw it, if it would elicit a smile. 

And then he realized Robin was snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Dingus. Hey, Earth to Harrington. Did you not hear anything I just said?” 

“Oh. Uhm. Yeah, sorry Buckley. I didn’t catch that.”

Her face did the thing where it went soft -- like she was trying to say things with her expression that might never leave her mouth. “Were you thinking about Billy?” She asked quietly. 

“Yeah.” Steve said. Might as well come clean. “Guess I was. Sorry. What were you saying?”

She repeated the current drama between two friends and was trying to figure out how she could extract herself from the entire situation without hurting anyone’s feelings. Steve talked her through it, and not long after he’d helped her work it out, Jack Sinclair walked through the door. 

Steve had met Lucas and Erica’s uncle several times when he came in to rent videos, specifically when Lucas and Erica would be coming over to stay the night with him. Steve had taken the Beemer into Sinclair’s Repairs a couple of times as well.

“Hey Mr. Sinclair,” Steve said as he started to check out the videos Mr. Sinclair had put on the counter. “Lucas and Erica going over your place tonight?” 

“Yep. Their mom and dad are staying overnight in Chicago, so I told them I’d take the kids for the night. I gotta get up early though and head into the shop, so they’ll have to fend for themselves for breakfast. One of my guys up and quit on me the other day.” 

Steve thought of countless times he’d seen Billy covered in oil and dirt over the last year: fixing the Camaro, changing oil, tinkering on cars and trucks in auto shop at Hawkins High. Billy had fixed three different teachers’ cars once in order to avoid various suspensions. “If you need someone, I know a guy who’s handy with cars. We graduated together.” 

“Yeah? He have experience?” 

Steve shrugged. “Not in a garage, I don’t think. But he was awesome in auto shop at school, and always did his own car repairs. Smart guy and a fast learner.”

Jack nodded. “I’d be willing to train the right type of guy. Old Robinson still the shop teacher at Hawkins High?” 

“Yeah. That guy will probably never retire.” Steve leaned over. “There’s a couple things you should know about my friend, though. He’s been through a lot recently. He had a lot of shitty things happen to him and he doesn’t really talk a lot. This would be kind of a second chance for him. It might be a good way for him to move forward after a whole lot of bullshit.” 

Jack smiled. “I might know a thing or two about second chances myself. And you don’t need to be much of a talker to work on cars. Do I know this guy?” 

“Maybe. Billy Hargrove?” 

“Max’s brother? The guy who was presumed dead in the mall fire but just came back home?”

 _If only he knew half of it_ , Steve thought. “Yep. That’s him.” 

“If he’s a buddy of yours and not much of a talker, why don’t you bring him by the shop? Give me a chance and see what he can do. And he’d probably feel more comfortable with a friend around.” Jack slid his card across the counter, and Steve handed over his rentals.

“I’m seeing him Saturday. How bout then?” 

“I’ll be there. Take it easy, Harrington.” 

“You too. Say hi to Lucas and Erica from me.” 

As Jack Sinclair left the store, Steve felt like maybe, if all of this worked out, Billy might just end up back on that same path to something _better_ that he’d started before the mindflayer -- and Steve felt pretty fucking good that he was laying some of that road for Billy. 

**~*~**

Steve paced around in front of his phone that night, willing himself not to seem too fucking eager, but he figured since he had a potential job lined up for Billy, he’d better call and tell him about it. “When Mr. Sinclair told me about needing someone, I thought about that time you fixed up Mrs. Click’s transmission.”

“Jesus Christ, yeah. It was either that or get a five day suspension.”

“Not only that but I remember that you got an A out of her. You smooth motherfucker!” 

Billy laughed on the other end. “I dodged a bullet with that one. If I got sent home on a five day suspension, my old man would’ve beat the _shit_ out of me. But you know what? I ended up writing her a four-page essay -- a report on Hiroshima. Click loved me. If you can bullshit, teachers eat that up. Teachers really get their rocks off over that kinda shit, yknow?” 

It was the longest string of sentences Billy had said to Steve yet, but he didn’t want to jinx anything and just let it be. “Yeah well. You definitely had Click in your back pocket. So, what do you think? Wanna go over to Jack’s shop with me on Saturday? Give it a shot?” 

“Yeah, pretty boy. I think I’m ready to get out of this house. Sounds good.” 

A few beats of silence passed. Steve lay back on his bed and started toying with the drawstring on his pajama bottoms. “I was thinking about you at work today.” 

There was a pointed silence on the other end of the line. 

Panic bubbled up in Steve’s chest. “Not like -- I meant because of Mr. Sinclair yeah but then -- then Robin was going on and on about this book she was reading and I saw it in your room too. Hitchhiker’s Galaxy, or something.”

“ _A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_?” 

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s the one she wouldn’t shut up about and to be honest all of that shit was going over my head. I thought, I mean, if you felt like it, no pressure or anything, maybe you could come up to the store and let her go off about it to you sometime. You’d make a better audience than I would. At least you’d know what the fuck she was talking about.” 

“You workin tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Robin and I are both on from four till close tomorrow.” 

“Alright. Tell her to bring her copy, and I’ll bring mine.”

Steve held the phone away from his mouth for a second, irrationally scared that somehow Billy would be able to hear him grinning through the phone. “Awesome. So -- see you tomorrow then?”

“Be there around seven. Hasta luego.” 

Steve hung up the phone and turned over in his bed -- shoved both his hands under his pillow and squeezed it to his face to press against his beaming smile. 

**~*~**

Sometime in the middle of the night, Steve woke with a start -- the images of fireworks exploding still burned in his eyes, a spectacular and horrific light show that highlighted Billy below, fists raised up to the mindflayer’s monster -- a twisted creature of guts and bones and spider-like limbs. 

Steve watched from the mall’s second floor balcony, helpless, as tentacle after tentacle slammed into Billy’s body. 

Steve screamed until his throat burned raw -- woke up screaming like that, sheets kicked to the floor. 

He took several deep breaths and gained his bearings -- did what Doc Owens had told him to do in situations like this, looked around his room and said, “phone. Lamp. Hairbrush. Poster. T-shirt.” And then he found himself grounded, back on Loch Nora, realizing slowly that those events that still plagued him were over four months in his past. For the rest of the night he lay in bed trying to recapture enough peace to fall back asleep, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were the bright flashes of fireworks illuminating a scene of horror. 

**~*~**

“You okay?” Robin asked the next day. “You look like shit.” 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well. I’ll be okay though.” 

“You sure? Do you wanna take off and go get some rest? I can cover for you, no problem.”

“Hey. It’s _okay_.”

“Don’t do the thing, Steve.”

“What thing?”

“The _everything’s fine I’m fine_ thing.”

Steve took a deep breath. “It was a nightmare. And I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

She nodded. “Okay. But if you do I mean -- I was there too. So if you want to tell me about it, I’m listening.” 

“Thanks, Buckley. You’re alright.” 

The next couple of hours flew by in a flurry of people getting off of work and dropping off their videos in their rush to get home, so Steve barely noticed when Billy walked in until he was standing in the back by the break room door with Robin. 

“Lookin pretty slow now. Gonna take my lunch,” Robin called, holding up her copy of the book. “You good out here?” 

“Yeah, fine! Go nerd out and talk about dragons and hobblits, or whatever.” 

Billy’s face twisted up and he looked at Robin, pointing at Steve. “Hobblits-”

“It’s best to just ignore it. Come on,” she said, and opened the break room door for Billy. 

Steve shook his head and finished scanning in the returns and reshelving them, wondering what in the fuck a voluntary book discussion might be like since his entire experience of talking about books consisted of a teacher standing in front of a class asking questions to an awkwardly silent room and the whole thing felt like pulling teeth. 

None of it seemed like it would be remotely pleasing to Steve.

Thirty minutes later, though, Billy and Robin emerged, still in the middle of a discussion. “Yeah you say that _now_ , but just wait.” Robin was saying. As they approached Steve, Billy stopped, and Robin plucked the videos from Steve’s hands and started shelving them. 

“Hey,” Steve said. “How’d everything go?” 

“Good. We lined up a book for next month. She let me pick and liked my choice so I think this is gonna be pretty goddamn cool.” 

Steve gave him a little smile and said, “I know people say this all of the time and words like this get meaningless after a while, but I truly mean this -- I’m glad. Really, I’m glad this worked out for you.” 

Billy held his gaze and stepped in close. He was wearing cologne -- Polo. Steve didn’t take Billy for a Polo kind of guy and his mind reeled a bit as the question bubbled in his mind, _did he do that for me?_. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Steve huffed a little bit and leaned forward even a bit more, their distance now a bit inappropriate for being two buddies in public, and flicked the zipper on Billy’s leather coat -- but then let his finger run down the front maybe a little too slowly. “I mean they were only Reese’s Pieces.” 

Billy reached out and gently touched his fingers to Steve’s. “It’s more than Reese’s Pieces, Steve.” His fingers laced between Steve’s, and Steve took one panicked glance around to see an empty video store. “You sent me candy. You reminded me how much I enjoy talking about books. You lined up a possible job for me. You helped me feel like a human being again. So don’t tell me it’s only fucking candy, Steve.” 

“It’s more than candy,” Steve said, and pressed his lips to Billy’s. 

Billy was still for two heart-stopping seconds but then he returned the pressure, his fingers squeezing Steve’s, his other hand wrapping around Steve’s side. 

Steve walked them back into the next aisle and pinned Billy against the shelf, deepening the kiss as Billy made a little _mmm_ while eight videos clattered to the floor. 

The sound of videos falling would become problematic for Steve after this moment because he’d always associate it with this -- the first time he kissed Billy, the first time his tongue slid past Billy’s lips and he licked against Billy’s tongue, tasting the chocolate and mint still there of the Peppermint Patties Billy had been eating with Robin in the break room. 

“Baby,” Billy whispered when they broke the kiss. 

Steve smiled. “Say that again.” 

Billy grinned and ran his teeth along Steve’s jaw, nipping once before placing a kiss to Steve’s lips. “ _Baby_.” 

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Billy’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss, let his lips linger, changed the angle, felt Billy’s curls slide through his fingers and that was when the lights cut out above. 

“Front door is closed and locked, Steve!” Robin called from the back exit. “Don’t forget to lock up behind you!” 

The door slammed, and Billy smiled against Steve’s lips, kissing him again before sliding down to pick up the fallen videos. “Let’s get out of here, pretty boy. When was the last time you slept anyway? You look like hell.” 

And that was how Billy ended up in Steve’s bed, listening as Steve recounted his nightmare. That night, though, Steve slept peacefully, spooned up behind Billy’s back, his hand resting lazily over Billy’s stomach. 

**~*~**

After observing Billy do a basic oil change, replace a serpentine belt, and do a rear brake replacement, Jack Sinclair shook Billy’s hand, gave him cash for the day, and told him he was hired. “Glad to have you on board, son.” 

Billy wanted to celebrate -- wanted to take Steve on their first official date. They went to _The Hawk_ and saw _Return of the Living Dead_ \-- “for my zombie baby,” Steve said, as he slid his fingers through Billy’s in the darkened theater. 

They ended up at the 24 hour diner down the US-131 and ate greasy burgers from red plastic baskets, laughing over the movie and trying to steal each other’s fries. 

And when _Yes Sir! That’s My Baby!_ came on the jukebox, Steve reached under the table and rested his hand on Billy’s knee, and Billy slid his hand on top of Steve’s. The night in front of them felt endless.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


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